That's What Tigers Do Best
by scrimshaw
Summary: Five times Dr. Frank "Tiger" Martin, Green Service of Medicine, helped out his friend Dr. Dal Timgar of the Red Service of Surgery, and one time Dal got to return the favor.
1. The Friendship Treatment

Growing up in New Chicago gave Tiger an early education in adjusting to different temperature zones. All denizens were required to spend at least one quarter of the year working in what was left of the Old City, a monument to the rise and fall of the lakes through the centuries. Camping on the frigid remains of the lower Michigan basin was as much a tradition as Bears games and hot dogs, as was the next day's inevitable scorching dawn.

People always looked askance when he spoke fondly of his time out in the uncontrolled weather, but Tiger only laughed when they asked if he was joking. It was his absolute favorite part of being from New Chicago: people never quite knew how to take him at first glance, so any lasting impressions they formed were entirely of his own making.

A close second to that advantage, though, was his adaptability. Hot, cold, rain, shine: New Chicago had taught him to take all forms of weather in their stride. Moving to Hospital Philadelphia for Medical School hadn't bothered him a bit. While other students whined about the snow or the lack of it, Tiger whistled on his walk to class and actually danced in the rain when the weather controllers let it pour. He'd never worried once about going out on a General Practice Patrol ship after graduating.

His first Koenig star-drive trip made him sicker than he'd ever been in his life (he'd never claimed to enjoy interspace physics). Once that headache cleared, though, Tiger took to space travel like one born to it. His equilibrium was challenged far more by his crewmates than his environment, but there wasn't much he could do on that front until His Highness Dr. Jack Alvarez acknowledged that Tiger's little Garvian friend Dr. Dal Timgar had just as much right to serve on their ship as anyone else.

Unfortunately, Tiger's resilience sometimes blinded him to the lack in others. During the first helter-skelter weeks of life aboard the patrol ship _Lancet_, Jack took it upon himself to set the temperature controls. He did have the decency to ask about it after the fact, to which Tiger only shrugged. "No problems here," he'd assured the Blue Service doctor, glad to have at least one thing they agreed on.

It wasn't until they'd been out on patrol for several months that he realized they'd forgotten to consult their third crewmate when it came to climate control. The problem caught his attention while he and Dal cleaned up the lab one day. Jack had once again found something "important" to do rather than help out, and Tiger complained warmly as he scrubbed the animal cages. "Jackie boy's going to be real sorry if we stop doing this, especially when he orders up new cultures."

"Let it be Tiger," Dal answered from his place by the sink, sanitizing pipettes and beakers and slides.

"I mean it Dal: he's just going to keep sticking us with the job unless we make him help."

"It's OK: I like cleanup duty."

Tiger jerked his head up. "Sorry, I think I've got rat pellets stuck in my ears: you actually _like_ cleaning out used lab equipment?"

"Sure." Dal shrugged at his friend's continued stare. "Not all of it, of course, but I wish I could run the water more often. It's such a nice change." The furry Garvian breathed in the steam with a deep contented sigh.

Tiger didn't press the matter, but he made a beeline for the ship's computer room once they were done. Since Dal's home planet of Garv II was such an important planet in the Galactic Confederation it didn't take long to find the information he sought.

"Holy moley," he whispered as he read. It turned out that Dal hailed from a tropical paradise, with average temperatures rarely dropping below the 80s. The _Lancet_ must have seemed like a meat locker in comparison, and poor Dal never spoke up once. While Tiger would like to blame Jack it wouldn't wash. He'd spent eight years of medical school with Dal, after all, and never once suspected how uncomfortable the poor guy was.

But whatever inattention to detail led him to this point only strengthened his resolve to make things right. After all, he _was_ a Green doctor: problem-solving was his specialty, and he got to work on this particular problem at once.

It took time, patience, and a few favors called in, but Tiger finally put a solution together. He found his friend hunched over the computer room's tape-reader and tapped him on the shoulder. "Happy New Year!" he announced as he deposited a package in the Garvian's lap.

Dal blinked, looking like a little mole caught out of doors. "I didn't realize we were exchanging gifts," he said, tapping the box with all four fingers of his left hand.

"No, silly, it's not Earth's New Year," Tiger assured him, "or Christmas, for that matter. I looked it up: it's the first day of the Garvian calendar."

Dal glanced down at the computer. "Oh, yes, it is."

"And your people sometimes celebrate birthdays on your first calendar day, right?"

"Well..." Dal let the syllable hang between them, obviously torn between his friend and his honesty. "We don't actually celebrate birthdays the way Earthmen do, but ..."

"But it _is_ a commemoration of some sort, right?"

"In a way—"

"Anyway," Tiger cut off the obvious prevaricating, "it's a gift for you, and it doesn't really matter what day it is." Tiger had never been patient at holidays, and he almost grabbed the gift back to open. Barely restraining himself, he placed a hand on Dal's shoulder. "Look, it's just a little something, from a friend to a friend. You don't have to get me anything in return, you don't have to even keep it if you don't like it. It's just my way of showing that I think you're doing a great job, even if no one else does. Okay?"

The little doctor grinned. "Okay." He ducked his head, _finally_ opening up the box. His smile opened to a full whoop when he saw what lay inside. "Are these really—?"

"Yep." Tiger grinned back, holding up a sleeve. "Space thermal wear, used by all the best Confederation trade ships. Well, close to the best anyway: some of those cost a fortune, and the regs wouldn't have allowed it anyway. But these are thin enough you can wear them aboard ship under your scrubs. I tried to order the smallest size they had available: if they don't fit, maybe we can get somebody to take them up when we land next. Come on Dal, say something: will they work?"

For a brief moment Tiger worried he'd offended Dal, violating some unknown Garvian custom or insinuating that he didn't think his friend was as able as his crewmates. "Look, Dal, it's okay if you don't want them, I can still probably send them back—"

"No!" Dal hugged his gift to himself in a sudden grab that surprised them both, then sent them giggling like children. "I really like them Tiger. Thank you."

"No problem." Tiger patted Dal on the shoulder one more time, then stood. "I'm going back to the radio: let me know if you need anything else." He gave his friend a very un-Tigerlike glance, trying to put as much meaning in it as possible. "Anything at all, okay?"

"Sure," Dal answered. "Thanks again Tiger."

"No problem." Tiger fairly skipped back to his post, humming happily. "_You're the pride and joy of Illinois, Chicago Bears, bear down!_"


	2. Recovery

Dal watched through half-closed eyes as Tiger and Jack put the last of the anesthesia tanks back in their recharging case. "I hope we don't have to do _that_ again any time soon," he muttered as he locked the storage door behind them.

Tiger stretched, a loud yawn escaping him as he did so. "You're telling me. Who knew arthropod osteology was so complicated?"

"Anyone who took third level xenoanatomical systems," Jack sneered.

"For someone who's specialty is diagnosis, you seem to have taken a _lot_ of extra courses in school."

The Blue Service doctor shrugged. "A good diagnostician needs to know everything. I intend to be the best."

Dal let their bickering wash over him as he reviewed his stores and supplies checklist. It would take several hours to refill the tanks, and they'd used up quite a bit of tissue and growth plates on this stop. They'd need to schedule a restock trip soon, especially if they got a few more emergency calls like this one. Just thinking about prepping for another procedure made his hands shake.

"Dal?" Tiger's concerned voice broke through, drawing his attention away from his own exhaustion. "I just realized I haven't seen Fuzzy since we left the surgery."

Ignoring Jack's annoyed snort, Dal pointed to his coat pocket. "He cocked out like a light once we were done," he explained, cupping a hand fondly around the sleeping pink fuzzball that served as his constant companion. "He usually tucks in right after I finish sewing the patient back up, as if _he's_ the one who's done all the work instead of just watching and waiting for it to be over."

"Well, looks like he's got the right idea," Tiger remarked, stifling another yawn. "After an eighteen hour operation I think we could all use a bit of R&R right now."

"Then what are we standing around here for?" Jack headed for the bunk room, calling back over his shoulder, "Don't be too loud when you turn in."

Tiger chuckled. "A bit like Fuzzy, isn't he? Thinks he did so much work, as if preparing grafts is the main deal in a slog like we just pulled. I just wished he had the little goofball's personality to match."

"He's not too bad," Dal protested, more out of habit than because he was conscious of any real feeling. Even a full month into their service as newly graduated doctors aboard a galactic patrol ship, he couldn't decide if his Blue colleague was really as arrogant as he seemed or just disdainful of his crewmates in particular. Dr. Jack Alvarez had made no secret of his complete intolerance for Dal since they first met. Once Dr. Tiger Martin made it clear that he disagreed and in fact considered Dal a close friend, Jack became distant and cool to them both.

His attitude hurt far more than Dal was willing to let on, but at the moment he was too tired to work up anything more than a distant resignation. "You should go on to bed," he advised Tiger, turning back to his checklist.

"What about you?" his friend asked.

"I've got to finish this paperwork, then check again on the patient." Dal blinked back his sleepiness, forcing himself to think about what he had to do. "We're going to need to order some supplies. I need to dry the microsurgical instruments when they come out of the wash. Put them away. Oh, and I need to check on the patient—"

"I think you said that already." Tiger reached for the checklist in Dal's hand. "Look, why don't you do that while I finish up the other stuff?"

"That's okay, it won't take long," Dal assured him. "Go ahead to the bunks. I'll be done soon."

"You'll be done even faster if I help. Just give me the checklist Dal. I can do that, I can't make sure the patient's recovering correctly. You're the surgeon on this ship, not me, remember?"

"Of course, but I can do it, really!" Dal protested, gripping his paperwork with all the strength he could muster and jerking back out of Tiger's reach. He hit the storage door with the back of his head, _hard_, and his gasp of pain was followed by a loud chirp as Fuzzy peeked out of his pocket. Waves of fright and shared pain radiated from the little creature, causing Dal to forget his own and reach down to hold him. "Shh, Fuzzy, it's alright, I'm fine." He stroked the warm fur as he sank to the floor, calming them both with each brush of his fingers. In very little time Fuzzy's shoe-button eyes closed, sinking back into his head as he rolled over in Dal's hands, dozing happily.

Tiger stooped down to join them. "Is he okay?"

"Yes," Dal said shakily. "He'll be fine, I just frightened him."

"He's not the only one." Tiger peered at him with anxious eyes. "Dal, what's the matter? All I want to do is help."

It was stupid, he knew, but he was too tired to offer a better excuse, especially to Tiger. "Stores and supplies is my responsibility," he murmured, still stroking Fuzzy, gathering strength from the contact even as the creature slept. Seeing Tiger's puzzled look, he continued. "Remember, when we divided up jobs? Jack didn't want me to do it."

Tiger snorted. "If he had his way you wouldn't even be on this ship, let alone doing anything here. What does that have to do with anything?"

Dal shrugged. "Nothing, I guess. I just don't want to give him the chance to say I goofed it up, or passed it off on somebody because I can't handle it. I wanted to prove that I can handle it, that I can be a good doctor." He blinked tiredly. "That sounded a lot more reasonable before I just said it out loud."

His friend shook his head, barely holding back a wide grin. "I'll bet it did, because you're this close to cocking out yourself. Dal, _of course_ you're a good doctor. Do you think either Jack or I could have put that patient back together again, even after eighteen hours? I'll save you the trouble of answering: no! You figured out how to reconstruct his exoskeleton, you conducted the surgery, and you saved his life. The reports can wait. You don't see Jack in such a hurry to get his finished, do you?"

"No..." Dal admitted sheepishly. "But I still want to do it myself. And you can't handle the microsurgical instruments, they're very delicate."

"And I have big giant hands, I know," Tiger said, holding up his arms helplessly. "But don't you think that can wait until you've caught some shuteye?"

"I guess so." He tried to come up with another reason to resist, but couldn't find the energy to do more than nod, barely holding his eyes open. It wasn't until he felt the floor move beneath him that he realized Tiger had helped him up and was leading him to the bunks. "I can get there on my own," he murmured, already half asleep and trying desperately to hold on for just a little bit longer, slipping Fuzzy back into his pocket with what little cognition he had left.

"Sure you can," he heard Tiger rumble beside him, "but I happen to be going that way myself. We'll get there all on our own, together." Dal barely understood him, using his last reserves of strength to put one foot in front of the other, until he collapsed on his bunk in a grateful heap. His legs were lifted up and a blanket wrapped around him.

As he sunk further into sleep, Dal whispered, "Thanks, Tiger."

And just before he was unaware of anything at all, he heard a ghost of a reply, "No problem, friend."


	3. School for Brotherly Care

As one of the biggest centers of medicine in Hospital Earth's North American district, Hospital Philadelphia afforded very little space for anyone to enjoy a quiet moment. Medical students forgot about that luxury quickly, as they joined ranks with the hundreds and thousands of other practitioners inhabiting this sprawling, ancient city.

Tiger Martin reveled in it. There was always something new to see or someone new to meet, and yet it was just as easy to catch up with friends. "Like Neverland without the pirates," he joked, and was pleased to hear the phrase spread not just among his fellow first years but even the upper classes. He joined a rec ball team, served on several committees, and managed to attend every party he was invited to, earning his nickname as he romped from one group.

By the start of his second year, Tiger's reputation and popularity were as established an institution as the school itself.

But barely one week into the new term and even his stamina was flagging. The faculty didn't hold back as they raised the standard of achievement ever higher. "It's not enough to be smart," an irascible White Service doctor lectured one morning to his bleary-eyed students. "You wouldn't be here if you weren't smart enough. A doctor must also have the heart and the will to serve, and the ability to face a crisis at a moment's notice, such as this morning's pop quiz."

The quiz turned out to be a review of their entire physiology courseload up to that point, which Tiger barely finished before hurrying to his next class. Another surprise exam greeted him there, followed by an unannounced dissection just before lunch.

He barely had the energy to drag himself to the school lounge, plopping into the first unoccupied seat. "I was wrong," he announced to the person beside him. "There _are_ pirates here, and they are out to kill us all." When he got no response, he turned and offered a lopsided grin. "Well, at least torture us into an early grave. Or maybe it's just _my_ teachers who decided to restart the Inquisition. Hi, I don't think we've met: Frank Martin, but you can call me Tiger. Everyone does, except the fellows with the whips. What's yours?"

The little guy stared back with the biggest gray eyes Tiger had ever seen. "You want to know _my_ name?" he asked, his soft treble almost inaudible in the busy lounge.

"Of course I do," Tiger said, pulling a protein bar out of his pocket. "I thought I knew just about everyone by now, but after this morning's third degree I can barely remember my own name."

That comment drew a tiny smile in answer. "I'm Dal. Dal Timgar."

"Okay Dal Timgar, tell me something: how come no else is sitting at our table? This place is usually packed to full capacity."

The grey eyes drooped forlornly as Dal looked around. "Because I'm sitting here," he whispered. Turning back to Tiger he spoke up in a voice full of false bravado. "It's okay if you want to move, I won't mind."

"Move? Are you kidding?" Tiger stretched his legs out to snag the chair across the table, leaning back and taking another bite out of his snack. "I never get to stretch out like this, and boy do I need to unwind today."

Dal blinked. "But, don't you have friends you want to talk to? You're usually surrounded by people."

"I know: that's why this is such a nice change of pace. And besides, I _am_ talking to a friend."

"Who?"

"He hold me his name's Dal Timgar, but that's all I know about him so far. Care to share some more? I like knowing all about my friends."

For someone with such a tiny face, Dal managed to drop his jaw to a ridiculous size, his mouth forming a surprised "Oh!" Snapping it back tight, he frowned. "First you have to meet someone," he said. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the cutest pink ball of fur Tiger had ever seen. The little thing actually chirped in delight as he uncurled in Dal's hands.

Tiger whistled. "I have got to take a picture of that thing: my nieces will simply die when they see it. I thought they had every pink creation in the universe."

Dal ignored Tiger's words, barreling on without looking up. "His name is Fuzzy, at least that's the best you can say it in English. He's not a pet or a toy. He's a person, as much as I am, and he's not going anywhere. If that's a problem, you'll have to find somewhere else to sit."

"Hold it, what are you talking about?" Tiger asked, putting his legs down and sitting upright. "Why would I have a problem with little Fuzzy here? Or you?"

Dal stared straight into his eyes with a haunted look. "Because I'm the Garvian who's foolish enough to try to become a doctor. The _only_ one in your school not from Earth. And you're Tiger Martin, the most popular student at Hospital Philadelphia. Can't you see all the weird looks everyone's giving us?" Anger darkened his tone. "Why don't you go back to your real friends. You're just making everything worse by sitting here."

It was Tiger's turn to blink in surprise. "Wait just a minute," he protested as Dal started to return Fuzzy to his pocket. "You don't have to put him away: he looked like he was having a nice break out here. If he's a person, doesn't he get to enjoy lunch too?"

"You ... you care, about him?" Dal asked hesitantly.

"You bet I do. I've never seen anyone like him, even in anatomy diagrams. And I've certainly never met anyone from Garv II up front and personal. We don't exactly get many offworld visitors back in New Chicago." Seeing his words slowly take effect, Tiger pressed on. "What's it like in space? I've never been to anything higher than low Earth orbit, and they say deep space travel is a thousand times crazier. Why, you're better prepared than anyone here for patrol ship life after graduation. What service are you going into?"

"Red, surgery," Dal answered automatically, shocked out of his dark mood. He glanced down at Fuzzy, now peeping back out of his pocket, and then back up at Tiger, a question ghosting his expression. Swallowing a nervous gulp of air, he smiled. "Thanks. For asking."

"No problem." Tiger leaned back again. "Glad we got that settled. I'm Green Service, by the way. So: surgery. Bet you're taking tons of anatomy courses. We should get together for a study session some time: after my test this morning I'll probably need all the help I can get."

Without warning Fuzzy scurried up to Dal's shoulder, growing legs as he did so. The Garvian froze, his smile suddenly brittle and his fingers clenching his plate.

Tiger burt out laughing. "That has got to be the neatest thing I have seen since coming here," he pronounced. "Does he do that often?"

Dal relaxed, grinning back. "Only when he wants to show off," he said, shooting a long-suffering look at his little friend. "He doesn't have a fixed cellular structure, so he simply morphs into whatever form he needs to. But the color is permanent. I didn't realize until moving here that might be a problem."

"Only for guys who aren't secure enough to see past it." Tiger rolled his eyes. "They'll probably flunk out after this term anyway. Anyone who can't embrace a few differences isn't cut out to a doctor."

"Maybe you're right," Dal said. "I'm not really sure what to do next though. I mean, in a regular Earthman conversation. I haven't had a lot of practice."

"Well we'll just have to work on that," Tiger smiled. "I usually just ask questions. It's a good way to get started with anyone. Go ahead, ask me anything."

"Alright." Dal considered thoughtfully. "This is probably going to sound really silly, but I'm still having a hard time with some parts of the language, and I've been trying to understand ever since looking it up last year."

"I might not be the best person to ask about a medical term," Tiger stopped him. "I'm struggling right along with everyone else."

But Dal shook his head. "No, it's about what you said when you sat down. What is a pirate, and why would there be any here?"

For a moment Tiger thought his new friend was pulling his leg. Then realizing his hesitation might be misinterpreted, he quickly spoke up. "We are definitely going to need to spend more time together to teach you about pirates. Tell you what: I'll get a movie night put together, and you help me study for my next anatomy exam. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Great. Well I've got to go face the afternoon's torment. Thanks again for saving me a seat Dal!" Tiger waved as he left the lounge, pitching his voice a little higher to catch some of the other departing students' ears. "See you tomorrow." He ignored the surprised looks, walking up to some classmates with an extra bounce in his step. "Hey guys, what are you doing this weekend?"


	4. The Extraction Dilemma

"They want me to do _what_?!" Dal asked hoarsely, sure he'd mistaken his colleague Dr. Jack Alvarez. The Blue Doctor had left their General Practice Patrol ship just after they landed to investigate the medical problem posed by the native citizens of Feighton V, large wolfish beings with a full coat of fur.

He returned barley twenty minutes later with sporting a wicked grin, one that now threatened to envelop his whole face. "You heard me," he replied. "Seems one of their highest ranking officials has a daughter with an ingrown tooth. They want you to extract it."

"But I'm a surgeon, not a dentist," Dal protested, turning from Jack to his friend Dr. Tiger Martin. Unfortunately, the Green Doctor was struggling to hold back his own growing smile. "Surely there's been a mistake."

Jack shook his head. "Nope, I examined the girl myself: the tooth is most definitely impacted, and it looks like it hasn't been brushed in years."

"Thanks for the diagnosis," Dal said sourly. "But I think we should let Tiger look it over before deciding on treatment."

"Don't see that there's much for me to do." Tiger shrugged, still struggling to keep a straight face. "You're the bone guy on this ship, not me."

Dal threw up his arms in disgust. "Teeth are not bones!" he exclaimed.

"I don't know," Jack's smile grew lazy. "Have you seen what big teeth they have?"

Tiger tried to glare at his fellow doctor. "Don't say it ..." he begged, but Jack's grin only grew more lopsided.

"The better to eat you with?"

They both lost it, their laughter only serving to sharpen the Red Surgeon's temper. While Jack had slowly grown friendlier to his fellow shipboard doctors, Dal wished now he was back to his formerly dour self. "Look, it's not funny," he tried to interrupt, but it was a hopeless cause. "Fine. I'll go check the tape library and see what can be done." With that he left the still gasping men and headed for the computer room.

Once inside he checked over the records for the planet. It turned out the Feightons did have exceptionally large teeth, but what they made up for in size they lacked in quantity, and females had even fewer than males. Due to this scarcity the teeth were sealed in the mouth with a much stronger gum than most mamalian species.

It was looking more and more like a surgeon really was the person for the job, Dal realized drearily, looking down at hands that were tiny by Earth standards. The thought of putting nearly his whole top half into a large mouth sent shivers down his spine. "You've just got to go out there and do it," he commanded himself, turning off the tape-reader.

Dal returned to the control room with his case of microsurgical instruments. "I hope you had a good laugh, because you're both about to be my operating partners."

Whatever mirth might have been left in the doctors evaporated quickly at the news. "But it's just a tooth—" Jack began, only to be cut off by Dal.

"Yes, _and_ a potentially calcified molar joint, _and_ several nerve branches I'll need to regraft to the patient's mouth." Dal spoke grimly, taking only minor satisfaction at his colleagues' alarm. "Which means it's more than a pulled tooth, it's oral surgery. Now grab an anesthesia tank and let's go."

To his credit, Jack immediately fetched the desired tank and joined both Dal and Tiger outside the ship without further comment. At their approach to the city several of the Feightons howled in relief. One particularly large shaggy man bound up to them. "She is in a great deal of pain," he barked, his voice several decibels above what any of them were used to. "Please tell me you can remove it."

"We'll do our best," Dal assured him, trying not wince at his tone. "Take us to her."

He did so, leading them inside a nearby building. The patient lay on a chair, her tail thrashing back and forth in agitation. "Papa, please, it _hurts_," she whined. "Make it stop!"

Her father bound to her side. "There there my pet, the physicians from Hospital Earth are here to take care of you."

She looked over at the three doctors without much enthusiasm. "But they're so _small_!"

Dal smiled nervously. "We're a lot heartier than we look," he offered, putting a stool down on the floor beside the patient's chair. "Now, if you'll just let me look inside."

She did so, pointed canines gleaming wickedly. It was clear which tooth was the culprit, and Dal wasted no time directing his assistants. "This is as good a place as any: Jack, you get the tank prepped, and Tiger, help me setup the surgical table."

Everyone marched to his orders while the girl continued to demand action. "It _hurts_, it really, really _hurts_," she cried, her claws digging in and out of her paws.

Dal avoided staring too hard at those claws, or thinking too much about how sharp those teeth really were. Instead, he tried his best to soothe the patient as they got prepped. "Don't worry, it'll all be over soon. Just try to relax."

He saw Tiger's frown but couldn't do much about it. It was the truth, and he couldn't help it if the girl was too frightened to listen to reason. Once everything was ready he turned back to the father. "We're going to all scrub up now," he explained. "You need to leave the room."

"But, surely I can scrub up too?"

Dal took one look at both Feightons' swishing tails and nixed the idea. "It will only take a short time." He projected calm into his voice. "Really. You can wait right outside."

"Just go Papa," the girl ordered, annoyance mixing with pain. "I want it over with."

With a last few consoling words the father left, and Dal and his team got to work. A very light amount of anesthesia later and even the girl's tail stilled, only looping back and forth in a content pattern. Gloves and mask on, Dal checked that all his instruments were in place one final time, then turned back to his patient. "Alright, let's get that tooth out."

With those words the patient's apparent calm morphed into a cry of alarm. "Take it **out**?" she howled, nearly sending Dal toppling back over on his stool.

"Jack, give us a little more juice there," he commanded, determined to stay on top of the situation.

But the increased dosage did nothing, and the girl twitched away when he tried to reach over. "Don't take it, don't touch it!"

Tiger was ready with his knife, and Jack looked poised to up the dosage even higher if ordered. "Just a little more," Dal said, trying to keep his growing anxiety out of his tone. "But not too much: we need her at least partly awake. Now, please, we'll make it stop hurting if you just open your mouth—"

But she clamped down hard, and Dal narrowly avoided a bite as he withdrew his hands. "No," she mumbled through clenched teeth, shaking her head and tail together.

What to do? Nothing in his Medical Training or time before Earth had prepared him for dealing with a problem like this. Any minute he expected the bigger Feighton to come barreling back through the door, and _his_ teeth were even larger.

Just then Tiger stepped around to the other side of the patient, a clenched fist in front of him. "I'll give you three guesses as to what I've got," he said, smiling for all the world like it was the end of term and he'd scored a perfect grade.

The young Feighton girl eyed them both suspiciously, but her gaze finally turned back to Tiger. "Why should I care?" The words were muffled coming through her closed mouth, but Tiger responded without skipping a beat.

"Oh, no reason," he answered lazily, cupping one hand with the other. "But you seem clever, and I figured you'd guess quicker than these two jokers did. If you get it right, I'll give you a treat."

"What kind of treat?" The girl actually opened her lips to speak, and based on her tail's movement appeared to be calming.

"Well that depends. See, I _would_ give you a lollipop or a licorice or something sweet, whichever you like, but I can't with your tooth all swollen like that." He sighed, still playing with his hands. "And you look like such a smart girl, I really want to play this game with you. But if you won't open your mouth, I'll have to give it to the next little girl we go to help..."

Tiger started to turn away, but the girl reached a paw out. "Wait!" She stared at Tiger's hands, thinking, then spoke clearly. "Is it a bird?"

"Nope," he said, shifting his palms again. "Two guesses more."

She considered. "Just air?"

The Green Doctor shook his head. "Good guess though. That's what Jack over there thought, but I bet you can guess better than him next."

"Thanks a lot," Jack muttered, but the Feighton girl didn't give him a chance to say more.

"I know, I know: it's your claws!"

"I knew you were clever." Tiger held up his ten fingers, wriggling them to the girl's obvious delight. "Mine aren't nearly as sharp as yours, but they're perfect for tickling. So, your choice: do you let us take out your tooth and get a treat, or get a tickle fit, of both?"

"Both!" And with that, she opened wide, fully relaxed and ready for Dal to operate. "Just do it quick, I want my treat!"

"Right," Dal remarked, watching in awe as Tiger slipped back around to hand him the first instrument. "Just, hold still. We'll be done soon." And with her impatient help, they were. The actual extraction was the toughest part: the joint turned out not to need much attention, and the nerve endings he'd been so, well, nervous about were simple to move over.

Tiger dutifully arranged a treat for the girl, who appeared less interested in that then the promised tickling, howling happily despite her stitches. "Thanks for being such a good patient!" he called as they left.

Jack charged toward the ship, obviously glad to be away from the officious thanks of the Feightons, while Dal hung back. "Tiger, how did you know what to do?" he asked. "I thought we were sunk back there when she wouldn't open her mouth."

"Oh, it's the same trick I used with my nieces whenever they didn't want to eat their peas," he answered, still waving goodbye over his shoulder. "Kids are all the same, they just want a distraction and a goal to get through the ick stuff. It's when they grow up that things get complicated." He shot a glance toward the retreating Blue Doctor meaningfully.

Dal smiled. "Maybe," he admitted. "But at least some people's bark is worse than their bite."

They were still laughing by the time they got back to the ship.


	5. Wake

It had been a lost cause from the start, and the doctors knew it from the moment the alarm came over the radio. A planetary inhabit lay gasping his final breaths, and the Galactic Practice Patrol ship _Lancet_ simply happened to be the closest vessel in range to receive the signal. The symptoms described sounded like an acute case of pneumonia, which coupled with the patient's age and past history of illness sounded likely to kill him before they could even get their star drive fired up.

Still, it was a contract planet, and the doctors arrived as quickly as they could. Jack performed a full examination only to give the same diagnosis as he had on the ship: terminal.

Tiger counseled the family on palliative care, offering as much support as possible, but in the end he could only watch with those gathered as the patient gradually slid away.

After a while he noticed Dal hovering in a corner, Fuzzy burrowed into the crook of his neck like a pink boil. Shaking off that maudlin thought he walked over. "Hey, thanks for staying, but there's not a lot for any of us to do," he whispered. "You can head on back to the ship. From the looks of things, I'll probably be there soon myself."

Dal peeled his eyes away from the sickbed, blinking several times. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

The Red Surgeon stood from the chair he'd been perched on, eyes turning once again to the patient. "Okay, but if you need something ..."

Tiger nodded. "Of course, I'll be sure to ask."

As he'd predicted, the final moments arrived not long after Dal left. The family thanked him for his efforts, offering to share a meal with him, but he politely declined. "I'd better head back to the ship, unless there's something else you need?" When it was clear he couldn't be of any further use Tiger left.

He found Dal and Jack both in the control room. "Well, it's over," Tiger announced.

Jack shook his head. "Now we'll all have to file pathology reports," he said. "Perfect."

"I know, but sooner we get it done the better."

Dal said nothing, but Tiger could well imagine the little doctor's feelings on the subject. Black Doctor Tanner, one of the leading pathologists on Hospital Earth, had tried time and time again to boot the Garvian physician out of the medical service, promising to make the most of any opportunity. Tiger gave his friend a wan smile. "Look, Dal, there was nothing anyone could do here. The Black Service will understand that."

But Tiger's words barely seemed to register. "Dal, are you okay?" Tiger asked in concern, remembering his friend's reaction back on the planet.

"Oh, sure," he replied unconvincingly. "I'll leave you two to your reports. I have to check the supply closet." With that he abruptly left the room.

Even Jack looked perplexed. "Something odd there," he muttered before turning to the teletype machine.

"Yeah," Tiger said, staring after Dal. As the ship's Green Doctor his report would be the most important to transmit. He decided to get it over with quickly and then check on his friend.

Like the best laid plans, his hit some snags when they were informed they wouldn't be allowed to refuel until the morning due to the funerary proceedings. Without the boost of a land-based interstellar radio they'd have to wait to transmit their reports until they could get out of the planet's orbit. Given the amount of time that would elapse between the event and their reports eventually being read by the Black Service, Jack pointed out they'd better be as thorough as possible. "You know who's going to read it the most," he said archly, and Tiger had to agree.

After what felt like hours hunched over their machines both doctors decided to take a break. Jack went searching for something to eat, while Tiger headed back to the bunk room. There he found Dal staring listlessly down at a textbook, Fuzzy murmuring in his ear.

"Hi Dal," Tiger said quietly, hoping not to startle him. Dal looked up, clearly not happy and yet saying nothing. "Look, we won't be able to take off until tomorrow because of some weird burial custom the planet has. Are you hungry?"

"No." The answer came so soft Tiger nearly missed it.

He leaned in the doorway, unsure how to proceed. "Look, it's none of my business—"

"You're right, it's not," Dal snapped. Fuzzy shrank back in alarm, retreating to the pillow with a soft yip. "I'm sorry Tiger, I didn't mean to growl at you."

"Hey, no problem," Tiger assured him, taking a step closer. "It's been a rough day for everyone."

"But especially you," Dal said. He shrugged his shoulders, frowning. "I don't feel like I did anything on this stop."

"Well there wasn't much call for a surgeon."

"But I should have been able to do _something_," Dal complained, frustration evident in his tone. His thin frame shook with pent-up energy.

Tiger closed the gap between them, sitting beside his friend. "Is this about the patient, or something else?"

The other doctor said nothing for a moment, still struggling to contain himself. Finally he gave a deep sigh. "I must look like a complete idiot: a doctor who can't deal with death."

"Nope," Tiger disagreed. "You look like someone who needs a friend. I know I do right now."

Dal quirked a tiny grin, though the humor didn't quite reach his eyes. "It felt so much like home," he explained, reaching over to pet Fuzzy. "There's a smell here, just like on summer nights, back when my mother..." Dal gulped. "Back before the plagues took so many of our people."

They sat in silence for a moment, Tiger hesitant to say anything more. He realized now he should have done something sooner, should have recognized that Dal might associate this patient's death with the death of his own mother, but he'd been too preoccupied with the work to see it. There seemed little he could say to make things better.

He glanced over at the purring fuzzball now curled around Dal's four left fingers. "Fuzzy looks a little better. It must have been rough for him out there."

"Mmm," Dal agreed. He turned to Tiger. "You said they're keeping us grounded, because of a ritual?"

"Yes..." Tiger hated to say anything more on the subject, but at Dal's obvious concern he shared what they'd been told. "They're holding the funeral tonight, evidently, and so no one can help us refuel."

Dal considered. "Do you think they'd let us attend?"

"Dal, look," Tiger hesitated, not wanting to cause his friend any further pain. "I don't know that you should try to go out there. It might be a bit much."

But Dal shook his head, standing. "Maybe. But I'm tired of feeling helpless. If all I can do is go out there and cry with them, then that's what I want to do. I ... I think I need to." He reached over and picked Fuzzy up, pocketing him in his coat. "You don't have to come Tiger, you've done enough today."

"No way." Tiger stood up as well. "You go, I go. I made a promise, remember?"

"Okay. Then let's go to the radio and ask if we're invited." They left together, walking down the hallway, and it wasn't long before they were shoulder to shoulder at an alien grave for a person neither of them knew, listening to words neither particularly understood.

He'd never considered attending last rites for any of his patients. If asked, he'd have said it would be uncomfortable and possibly intrusive. But one look at his friend was all it took to convince Tiger he was exactly where he needed to be.


	6. The Best Medicine

A loud sneeze echoed in the tiny confines of the General Practice Patrol ship _Lancet_, causing Dr. Jack Alvarez to drop the report he was working on in annoyance. "Can't you keep your germs somewhere else?" he asked his very sick colleague Dr. Tiger Martin.

"Since you've banned me from the bunk room _and_ the lab, I'm not sure where else you think I should go," he sniffed, blowing his nose irritably. "Would you be happier if I went outside?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Jack growled. "We're in the middle of deep space: you couldn't leave even if I wanted you to."

"Thank you so much for your generosity," Tiger drawled with uncharacteristic sarcasm.

"You can thank me by getting better. You're the Green Doctor: shouldn't you have your own treatment plan by now?"

"Believe it or not Jack, 'physician heal thyself' is _not_ practical advice."

Dal tried to shut his ears as the two kept going, focusing on the book in front of him as he downed a quick lunch. Tiger had fallen ill a week earlier. Had he contracted something truly dangerous they would have called for a hospital ship to pick him up, but Jack quickly diagnosed it as a simple cold.

Since then there'd been no calls over the radio, nothing to break up the monotony of shipboard life, and the two doctors had taken to quarreling at every opportunity. It was in some ways a break for Dal, since Jack's ire was now focused squarely on Tiger as opposed to his Garvian colleague. But Tiger was the one who usually kept the Blue Doctor in line, and Dal found he made a poor substitute.

He tried to keep out of the fray, hoping things would calm down on their own, but his crewmates' tempers sounded close to popping. That night, as Jack tossed and turned in his bunk muttering about disinfectant and Tiger's harsh coughing rent the air from the observation room, Dal made up his mind. He had to do _something_.

Getting up as quietly as possible, he slipped into the computer room and fired up the tape-reader. Fuzzy barely put up a protest when he left and still lay snoozing back on his bunk. Raising the temperature to a toasty level, he leaned back in the chair and began searching for information. In this scenario he'd need to serve as both diagnostician and medical physician, Blue and Green services in one. Which, considering he was a surgeon, might make his self-imposed task even harder than it should be.

Seeing a bit of data, he suddenly sat up and smiled. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all...

* * *

><p>It had been many nights since Tiger could say he'd probably slept; instead, each morning he simply slipped from "half awake" to "not bothering." He blew his nose, coughed, blew his nose again, then dragged himself up and to the shower. Jack had tried to quarantine him from here too, but simple logic had finally convinced the Blue Doctor that it would be better to endure potential contamination than a crewmate who hadn't bathed regularly in an environment with recycled air.<p>

The hot water hit his hot skin in blessed pain, fog clearing his aching sinuses and making him feel alive once more. It was over all too soon. He pulled on his sweats and wrapped himself in a blanket despite his temperature, knowing the chills would be soon to follow.

Despite Jack's obvious doubts, Tiger actually had tried to cure himself. He'd used clinical methods first, then old traditional remedies, even breaking down and trying his grandmother's favorite cure-all of cooking grease and vinegar (and feeling even sicker because of it). Nothing helped, and he didn't know what made him sicker: the cold or his failure to actually do himself any good. Or Jack's self-satisfied contempt.

"Speak of the devil," he mumbled as the doctor stepped into the corridor from the bunk room. "Unclean, unclean, just passing by."

"Stop fooling around," Jack said. "Were you just at the showers?"

"Yes, yes, I haven't touched anything else."

"Good. You didn't see Dal, did you?"

That question brought Tiger up short, and he suddenly realized Jack was holding a shivering Fuzzy in his hands. "No, not there or back in the observation room before I left," he admitted, gulping back a cough.

Jack frowned. "He wasn't in the bunk room when I got up, but Fuzzy was, and sounding awful worried. At least, I think he's worried. It's not like I pay that much attention to him."

"Right..." Tiger caught himself from arguing back out of habit. If Jack didn't want to admit he was growing steadily more fascinated by the little pink fuzzball, now was the not the time to point it out to him. "Look, it's not like Dal could be many other places. I'll check back at controls, you check the computer room."

Jack nodded. "I'd send Fuzzy with you, but there's no reason to make it sick as well."

"Him!" Tiger couldn't help but call after the other man, but his frustration quickly turned to nerves as the little Garvian didn't turn up despite a meticulous search of the other room. "Come on, Dal, where could you be?"

"Not here?" Jack asked, startling him.

"No." Tiger's head ached: he'd been sedentary too long, and moving around this much only added to his body's other pains. He shook it, trying to clear his thoughts. "Maybe he's back in the bunk room now."

"Why would he go back there after he was already up?"

"I don't know, but he can't have gone far. This isn't that big a ship." His eyes bore down on Fuzzy, who continued to shiver in Jack's hands. The Blue Doctor was actually petting him, probably unaware of the fact, and if he weren't so worried Tiger would have whistled at the sight. "Look, pal, where is he?"

As if in answer, Fuzzy suddenly chirped and grew four legs, scuttling up to Jack's shoulder in a move that made both he and Tiger jump. The little creature danced excitedly and clucked with gusto.

Jack's horror at enduring a Fuzzy sensation was hilarious. "What do you think he wants?" he asked with wide eyes, standing absolutely still.

"Beats me, Dal's the only one who can really understand him," Tiger admitted, wishing he had his full faculties to bear on the problem. A giant sneeze overtook him midthought.

"Bless you," Jack spoke distractedly, turning back to the corridor. He sniffed the air. "Tiger, do you smell something?"

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Tiger barely managed to get out as he blew his nose, _again_.

"No, it's like..." Jack sniffed again, then actually grinned. "Like bacon!"

That word got through Tiger's fog. "Bacon?" He sniffed as well, trying to breathe as deeply as his clogged nasal passages would allow, and a faint scent barely made it through. A wonderful, amazing, impossible smell.

As one the two doctors headed back down the corridor to the observation room, the smell growing stronger and Fuzzy becoming positively ecstatic. When they emerged into the common area they stopped in awe.

"There you guys are!" Dal smiled as he set a plate down on an already laden table. "I was just about to go find you. Hope Fuzzy hasn't bothered you too much."

"No..." Jack trailed off, clearly not believing his eyes. "Is that ... bacon?"

"And eggs?" Tiger breathed in the heavenly smell again. "And ... orange juice?"

Dal looked from one to the other in delight. "You like it?"

"Are you kidding?!" Tiger plopped in a chair, staring at the spread before him. "But, we don't have any of this on board the ship."

"And we haven't stopped," Jack protested as well, handing Fuzzy over to Dal. The little fuzzball leapt to his friend, who warbled right back to him in a moment of joyful communion.

"Well, you're right: we didn't have bacon, eggs, and orange juice on board, and technically, we still don't." Dal gestured to the miraculous food. "But we do have a fully stocked lab with nearly every chemical compound known to the universe, and a store of food stuffs that can be broken down to the microbial level. Turns out its just simple microsurgery to turn protein into different forms, which added with the right compound can be made to taste and smell just like the real thing."

Jack shook his head. "That sounds dangerous: what if it's toxic? And where did you get the juice?" His protest would have had more heft if his mouth wasn't obviously watering.

Dal rolled his eyes. "Give me some credit Jack: I _am_ a scientist. I fed it to one of the lab test animals first, and it liked the taste of it. As for the juice, we have concentrated vitamin C. I crushed and blended it with some other vitamins and chemicals until it came out to something that might be like what you squeezed out of an orange." He blinked, suddenly uncertain. "I think I got the ingredients right. My palette for Earth food's not that developed even after Medical School, but it smells like what I remember people eating. This _is_ a special style of Earth breakfast, correct?"

Jack and Tiger stared at him, then at each other. Finally Tiger picked up a fork. "I don't care whether it's real or not: I can't stand not taking a bite one second longer."

Before long they'd all tucked in, and Dal's makeshift cookery turned out to be a winner. The "eggs" were a bit on the salty side, and the drink tasted more like the vitamin blend it was than orange juice, but the two Earthmen devoured the fabricated bacon like starving men. "I don't know how you did this," Jack commented between bites, "but it should be taught in senior level classes."

Tiger actually laughed, the first he'd enjoyed since falling sick. "Sure. In this week's grand rounds, Doctor Timgar will demonstrate how to turn your ship's lab into a gourmet kitchen."

"It'd be more useful than charting anomalous signals on the radio." The Blue Doctor snagged another slice of fried protein supplement. "I swear it's just like the real thing."

"It really is Dal," Tiger agreed, chomping down on his own strip.

The Garvian ducked his head at the compliments, petting a very happy Fuzzy and smiling. "Thanks." He drank the last of his "juice," then stood. "Well, Fuzzy, you can either join me with the cleanup or stick with these fellows. I'm afraid the lab isn't in tip-top shape at the moment."

Tiger nearly offered to help, but was interrupted by Jack. "What?! No, don't go, the laboratory is _my_ responsibility. You stay right here with Tiger and finish the food: I don't want anything put back in the wrong place." He snagged another bite before heading toward the corridor. "And don't even think about getting up Tiger: you still need to rest, and you're not completely past the contagious stage yet."

The two doctors looked at each other after their colleague disappeared. "I think Jack just offered to clean up for me," Dal said in amazement.

"And actually seemed concerned for my well-being. Just what did you put in this stuff Dal?" Tiger joked, sipping his own drink. It might not be juice, but it still went down well, soothing his throat.

"Ancient Garvian magic," his friend offered in turn. He eyed Tiger as the big man leaned back in his chair, the remains of the feast digesting happily in his now full stomach. "Do _you_ feel better?"

"Yes..." Tiger said as a matter of course, then stopped as he waited for a cough or a sneeze to belie his words. None came. In fact, he could actually breathe, and his temperature felt close to normal. "Actually, yes, I do. Really, Dal, this was amazing."

"Good." Dal grinned as Fuzzy chirped his own satisfaction, then grew serious. "I really felt like I had to do something, after all you've done for us, both of us. You've been a good friend Tiger."

The Green Doctor didn't answer for a moment, savoring his newfound state of comfort. "Just promise when I get completely better you'll still fix breakfast every now and then?"

"Of course."

He was still sick, and it might still be a while before their next call, but at least for now, Tiger felt like everything in the universe was better. After all, wasn't that what friends were for?


End file.
